


The Red Room

by Baamon5evr



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Background Relationships, Bisexuality, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Male-Female Friendship, Memory Alteration, Minor Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Bucky Barnes, Red Room (Marvel), Unreliable Narrator, Winter Soldier Natasha Romanov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-08-22 07:09:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16593221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baamon5evr/pseuds/Baamon5evr
Summary: It is a funny feeling to be able to rework and remold yourself at the drop of a hat and a heavy thing trying to find yourself under the lies and facades and blood. He is 90+ years old and he looks no older than 28. He is dead, yet he’s been living a life for a long time now. He is James Buchanan Barnes, son of George and Winifred Barnes (that’s what they tell him, no that’s what he knows now for a fact). He is Yakov Stepanovic Bennett, son of Thomas Bennett and Sasha Burdeyev, (that’s what they tell him, now he knows that that is a lie but it is as much a life he has led as any other alias is). He is the Black Widow, son of no one (they don’t tell him this, this he has never doubted).[Role Reversal]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting on my computer for maybe three years and I'm tired of looking at it. I may revisit it. I enjoy the concept and I like what I have written so I'd hate to still have it sitting here. I may revisit it but I can make no promises. However, if anyone is interested in adopting it or continuing, feel free to message me or say so in the comments.

It is a funny feeling to be able to morph yourself at the drop of a hat and a heavy thing trying to find yourself under the lies, facades and the blood, especially when you’ve spent your life being lied to and made to be hollow. He is 90+ years old and he looks no older than 28 at most. He is dead, has the tombstone to prove it, yet he’s been living his life… a life for a long time now. He is James Buchanan Barnes, son of George and Winifred Barnes (that’s what they tell him, no that’s what he knows now for a fact). He is Yakov Stepanovic Bennett, son of Thomas Bennett and Sasha Burdeyev, (that’s what they tell him, now he knows that that is a lie, but it is as much a life he has led as any other alias is). He is the Black Widow, son of no one (they don’t tell him this, this he has never doubted).

**~*~*~**

When he was young, only six, his mother took him to Russia to visit her great aunt. He didn't remember much of the trip, but the bone-aching cold was something he would never forget. It was so cold he was sure his breath turned to snow as it escaped his mouth. Everywhere was a dirty white, the never-ending snow having already been trampled on and tainted. His cheeks remained rosy the entire time they were there, his great aunt constantly pinching them was only half the reason. He had decided right then and there that he abhorred Russia and he'd never return for any reason. Life has a habit of working in ironic ways. But for however much his child-self had decided he hated the cold Russian weather and their stupid accents and the putrid smell in the air, he found one thing he loved there: ballet. He loved dancing, he loved letting the rhythm take him away and so his mother figured he'd love the Bolshoi Balet. Watching the women and men perform was a revelation to him. He wanted to do that, to be that, he wanted to be 'the Swan Lake' prince. It was to his dismay that some idiot kid shoved him down when he got back to Brooklyn and was trying to imitate what he saw in Russia.

"What are you doin'? You a fairy or somethin'?" One boy asked with disgust.

"Bucky's turned into a poof." Another ridiculed.

"Hey, leave him alone." A nasally voice said. He looked up to see a blonde boy standing over him with his arms crossed and a grimace set defiantly on his lips. He was at least six inches shorter than Bucky himself and the runny nose didn't exactly help him look any tougher. 

"What're you gonna do, Rogers?"

"Yeah, why don't you go inside before you have an asthma attack." The boy, Rogers, stood even more in front of him.

"Leave him alone." The first boy who shoved Bucky to the ground pushed the small boy one handedly and he was immediately on the floor next to him. Before he even knew it, Bucky was on his feet and his fist was flying towards the offender's nose. Blood began running down the rapidly bruising appendage and the boy cried out in pain. The second boy took a malicious step towards Bucky but the small boy came out of nowhere throwing himself full body into the taller boy's legs and knocking him to the ground, dazing him. Bucky grabbed the blonde boy and pulled him along behind him as he ran down the block and around the corner, before hiding in the alleyway behind the dumpster where old Miss Mags lived. She hated most children besides Bucky because he could hold a full conversation in Russian with her and she liked when he danced for her. She was there and glanced up with a sneer that disappeared when she saw him. She grunted before turning back to whatever she was doing. It was then he noticed the boy who came to his defense was heaving and breathing shallow air.

"You okay?" He asked concerned.

"Uh-huh." He waited another minute as his breathing slowed before he answered.

"I'm okay now. Running just gets to me is all. I'm Steve, Steven Grant Rogers. What's your name?"

"James Buchanan Barnes but I like Bucky better."

"I liked your dancin', wassat called?"

"Ballet, I learned in Russia." Steve's face turned up in awe.

"You been to Russia?"

"It isn't as great as it sounds, trust me. No offense or nothin' Mags." She grunted again.

"So Steve, wanna come to my house? I got left over muffins my Ma made with blueberries." Steve beamed at him so fiercely, Bucky felt all warm inside like when his baby sister Evie laughed at something he did or when he was able to make his Ma or Pop smile after a hard day working. Bucky took Steve's hand and was ready to run home with him before thinking better of it and strolled out of the alley together instead. He had promised himself a month later when they officially became blood brothers, he'd never let Steve go.

Like he said, the world had a habit of working ironically.

**~*~*~**

Bucky walked briskly down the hall towards Steve's room in the mock army hospital. He had rarely left his side since the miners had found the shield beneath the ice and the authorities called up SHIELD. He had remained there like a sentinel holding Steve’s hand in his own flesh and blood hand, ignoring the coldness that seeped from his prone body and how familiar it was to see him so frail and small rather than the larger than life action hero he became. Steve was warming up fast nowadays, his heartbeat getting stronger with every beat.

He had been with Nick driving back from dealing with Tony Stark's existential midlife crisis when he found out. He had been complaining to his boss about the nightmare that was working for Stark. The engineer didn't recognize him as one of the Howling Commandos and he was under the alias of Jimmy Banks, so flirting with Howard's kid without him knowing who he was had been an adventure in and of itself. Bucky had a time trying not to think of how easily Tony got entrapped by Jimmy's coy smile tinged with just enough innocence and his eyes that were bright but dim enough to show he wasn't senseless or completely naive. He thanked every deity once he was able to drop the act.

It wasn't that he hated Tony because he didn't. He didn't even dislike him, despite the fact that he was often purposefully annoying and Bucky ended up preferring Pepper for company. It was just that Tony reminded him of all the rich, smug, egomaniacal politicians and scientists and men and women of power who fell for people like Jimmy Banks. Jimmy, who he based off of the training Madame Pauk gave the trainees of the Widow program. He had seen Natalia in action enough times, had done it himself on smaller scales, to emulate that kind of deceit easily but he couldn't help but be reminded of Natalia and what he lost in a way that made it hard to compartmentalize.

Shifting his identity still wasn't something that lay completely comfortable with him and probably never would but seeing Tony Stark, who was just like Howard (and damn that asshole for not raising his kid the way he should've) had thrown him through even more of a loop. Nick would pick up on the mini identity scare, so Bucky made sure the conversation was solely on how hard it was for him not to break Tony's arm in seven different places when he slapped his ass and how Howard was so much worse than Tony in more ways than one. Then they got the call from Maria about what they found in the ice. He was shell-shocked and only nodded when Nick ordered him to go straight to the Arctic along with Maria to bring Steve back. At first they thought he was a perfectly preserved corpse but the sluggish heartbeat told differently.

He had had some choice words for Steve after the punk showed up in Zola's lab to rescue him as an artificially enhanced super-soldier. He was still his idiot little brother, didn't mean shit that Steve was now taller than him, he was still a reckless idiot. They joined the army at such young ages, they were both presumed dead before they got the chance to reach 30 and now 70 years later, here they both were together again.

_'Where are we going?'_

_'The future.'_

Yeah, no kidding.

The act of defrosting Steve was a laborious one, but one done under his supervision, which Fury didn't question despite giving him a warning look. Maria stuck close to him, awkwardly trying to offer her charge comfort while wearily checking Steve out. Bucky had often said time and time again that if Steve was alive he'd set the two of them up on a date. Maria knew he was now going to pester them both until they went out together. He overheard her saying she almost wished they never found the captain except Bucky was ecstatic, so she would let his future pestering slide (within reason, she was still the Deputy Director and Barnes' immediate handler so she could punish him without having a hair out of place if he annoyed her too much). Agent Morse, who took over as his partner when Barton was on "extended undercover missions" (which really meant he was home with Laura and the kids) had called to check in and offer her presence if he wanted but he declined. Clint facetimed him once he was finished with the god of thunder debacle in New Mexico and was back home on the farm.

 _'Coulson will probably be there soon to drool all over Boy Wonder.'_ He said with both annoyance and fondness.

Agent Coulson did indeed visit and quickly dissolved into a stuttering mess at the sight of Steve. Watching the usually well put together, proper man fawn all over Steve's unconscious form was entertaining and took his mind off what he'd do if Steve woke up an amnesiac or not Steve at all. Of course, he conceded, he wouldn't be the same. He'd gone through a war and made the ultimate sacrifice. Bucky had no idea how he would react to this new time or the changes or the missed opportunities. Peggy's face flashed in his mind. Sharon didn't know, so Peggy didn't know, unless Nick told her but Bucky wanted to be the one to do it. It'd been a couple months since he last visited Peggy anyway and he needed to give her his assessment of Tony and applaud her for putting up with Howard for so long, especially if Tony was any indication as to what kind of father and person Howard was after Bucky fell.

He had already catalogued in his head the shock and pain the bittersweet reunion would cause Steve and Peggy. A lot had changed, they were awake and living while Steve was asleep. Out of the Commandos the only ones still alive were himself, Peggy and Gabe and they were nearing the end. They'd lived full lives together, they had fallen in love some years after the war ended, had gotten married, had children that were full grown with their own children. Hell, even his youngest sister Becca would be gone soon, Rose having died before he got back and Evelyn having died a year ago. This would be hard for Steve. Bucky knew he was far from the man Steve knew but that didn't mean the person he was didn't still love Steve, didn't still look at him as a brother. Soon enough he'd be the only family he had left. With that in mind, he was staunchly against the fake 40s set up the council ordered to ease Steve into the truth. They obviously didn't know him. He wasn't just going to sit in a room all day and let himself be poked and prodded.

Bucky turned the corner and burst into the room without preamble. Steve was sitting on the bed staring at the redheaded woman across from him and Bucky could tell he saw right through the ruse. He looked at the agent sent into the room before rolling his eyes.

"Seriously? Who dressed you? Because between your hair, your tie and that bra I'm considering reprimanding you both. He would never fall for this. It's like you didn't even try." He said giving her another once over tinged with a grimace.

"Bucky? How— you died." Steve stuttered ineloquently.

"Yeah, well, so did you. Lot of that going around it seems." Bucky turned to the agent again who was shuffling a little uncomfortably and looking down at herself.

"Out." He ordered, inclining his head to the door.

"But I was ordered—"

"Tell Director Fury I kicked you out." The agent sighed before walking from the room. Bucky locked the door behind her and then turned to Steve. He was staring at Bucky from head to toe. He knew he was cataloging his clothing too and looking at the way he carried himself and noticing the differences. He was dressed in cargo pants with combat boots, a T-shirt and a leather jacket with his leather gloves. He was in black from head to toe and the fabrics of his attire would be foreign to Steve. His metal arm made him carry his weight differently, so he walked and stood with a gait unfamiliar to Steve. Plus, he looked older than the last time they saw each other. He had a lot to explain for sure.

"Remember when you were sick. Well, you were always sick so that isn't saying much." Bucky started, grabbing a chair and placing it across from Steve.

"But it was during the time when Ma was in the hospital because she went into labor with Rosie and Becca. I guess we were 11 or 12 then, and you were 'coughing loud enough for people in China to hear', according to Aunt Sarah." Both Steve and Bucky chuckled a little at the memory of Mrs. Rogers and how even while she was scared to death of Steve's illnesses, (and shared a good number of them herself) she still cracked jokes and made sure to make them laugh.

"Anyway, she decided to tell us a story, the story of Rip Van Winkle, the guy who slept for nearly a hundred years. I should amend what I said before. You haven't been dead, more like asleep. You were asleep a long time, Stevie." He could see the slight fear and confusion in his face and he couldn't do anything about that, confusion was going to be a constant companion for him soon.

**~*~*~**

It was not easy getting Steve to adjust. He didn't take the news well. He had shut down whenever anyone tried to address it, rebelled and locked himself away. Bucky had missions to complete but he did try to get through to him with varying levels of success. One night he happened upon Steve in the gym of the base he had been set up in. He walked in with two water bottles in his hand as Steve was taking his frustrations out on the punching bags. He hit the bag harder and harder until it went flying off the hook into the wall.

"Well, you successfully managed to vanquish the punching bag." Steve turned around to face him. His lips were turned down in a frown, his eyes were harder than he'd ever seen them. Bucky hid his misgivings behind a wide, playful grin as he approached the man with his hands raised in surrender.

"I come in peace." Steve stared for a moment longer before nodding to one of the water bottles. Bucky threw one to him and opened his own.

"What's with the late-night workouts? You don't have to anymore. In case you haven't heard, the war's over."

"Yeah, they keep telling me that but something tells me that's not true. Might have a different name this time around but war is war." Bucky shrugged in acknowledgement before sitting on one of the benches in the room. He took off his leather jacket as the heat of the room sunk in, his arm flashed blue as he put his jacket to rest on the boxing ring ropes and pretended not to notice Steve staring. At least he didn't freak out like last time.

"You still haven't told me how you got that."

"Yeah, I did. Told you I lost my arm when I fell."

"The red star, it's not SHIELD. It's Soviet." Bucky opened his mouth, getting ready to lie before he stopped. He couldn't lie to Steve even though it was his first instinct.

"I— yeah, it's Soviet. After I fell, there was a snow storm. That along with whatever drugs Zola pumped me full of helped me survive. Some HYDRA agents found me. They eventually defected to the Soviets and they gave me the arm."

"They hurt you."

"Of course they did, but it's nothing. I didn't come to talk about that, I wanted to get you out of this stuffy gym. I'm going out for gelato with Maria, come with us."

"For the last time, I don't want to date Maria." Steve deadpanned.

"It's just me wanting to eat some delicious gelato with my two best friends." Steve took a moment to think before he nodded in acquiescence.

"Fine but one word about me and Maria and I'm gone."

They had gelato and he refrained from matchmaking the whole time. It was nice being there with the two of them, having two pieces of his life that he never thought could fit together working out without any major chaos was success in his book. It became tradition that he and Steve get late-night gelato together. He made time when he wasn’t on missions to hang out with Steve. They went to the movies together, they hit up Coney Island, he took him to see some plays on Broadway and did some shopping on 5th avenue. He located a vintage motorcycle he thought Steve would like and that seemed to help him some. He even managed to convince him to visit Becca at her daughter Kimberly's place and to call Peggy. It was all going well, a little too well. Steve was relaxing more and more but kept looking at him with this look that scared him. It wasn't until they were all of a sudden having to fend off an alien horde led by a demigod, Barton having been compromised, that he found out what the look was about.

He felt some pride having out-maneuvered and lied better than the trickster god but also more than a little shaken. Any good lie had to have enough truth to be believable and Loki was right, he did owe Barton a debt, even though when they first met, he had thought otherwise.

_He had wanted to die after it happened. He felt himself desiring it more and more every second he watched the fire devour the Department X. He moved on autopilot. Somehow his body managed to take him to the mountains that overlooked the base, blocked them from the rest of the world. His feet felt cold despite the boots he wore. There was no snow but the wind howled painfully in his ears and bit at his skin. Once he reached the peak, he felt himself stop. It took him a moment to realize he was shaking. The adrenaline was wearing off and the reality of the last week crashed down on him._

_Natalia was gone, dead for all he knew, and it was all his fault. He had been the one who became compromised, he was the one who started alerting attention to them, even though he knew there was something wrong they weren't telling them about. They were coming for him but she intercepted and they took her instead. He knew what they would do to her and a part of him hoped she was simply dead so they wouldn't do to her what they had done to him, but he doubted it and hated himself both for hoping she lived and hoping she died. One thing he did know is he wouldn't find her, not for a long time and if he did find her she wouldn't be her... if she was alive anyway._

_He flinched as he heard some screaming coming from the burning base. He hadn't cared which agents got out in time, he just made sure all the generals and doctors and scientists, the decision makers, the people who created the monsters and designed the human weapons, had no way out and all of their research would die there with them. But he didn't get any satisfaction from the screams. The only thing that reminded him that he was human and could feel, could love, was gone and he had no idea what to do next. All he had now were memories of them together to haunt him, jumbled memories of the life of a carefree Brooklyn boy who smiled like the sun, hazy recollections of a world drenched in blood and blue light as war played out in living color around him._

_He fell to his knees, feeling weaker than ever. His body swayed and he fell on his side and curled in on himself as tears started falling down his cheeks. He forgot he could cry, he never had a reason to until now. He wanted to stay there, to lay there and wait for death to come and take him like he deserved. He wanted to wait for Karpov to come get him and take all these memories away so he was no one again. He wanted to be a ghost one way or the other, he'd rather feel nothing and be nothing than to feel this way, but he couldn't._

_Every part of him: the part that was Bucky, the part that was Sergeant Barnes, the part that was the Winter Soldier and the part that was her Yakov rebelled and turned their noses up at the idea of not surviving, of folding and giving up. Too much had happened to give up now._

_So he didn't die but what he lacked in death physically, he made up for by personifying death. He had a varied yet specific skill set and there was always need for it for those with the right amount of money. He didn't care what he did at first. He took his anger out on everyone and everything._

_Then there was the string of horrible choices he made._

_There was the temple in Sao Paolo. Blood had splattered all over the alter and the pulpit. The cross, Jesus affixed to it, had looked down on the carnage of the group of rabbis who were meeting secretly to practice Judaism against a powerful Catholic druglord's wishes. That's when he remembered his real mother and father, and himself for that matter, were Jewish. He remembered how heartbroken Ma had been when some ratty boys spray-painted a swastika on their apartment door. He had been so angry, so indignant at it all and he'd joined the army (after he beat those punks up). Now here he was, spitting in his mother's face and tearing his own soul to shreds. His stomach roiled but he didn't throw up, at least not until he couldn't see the building anymore. He had desecrated the place enough._

_Then the hospital fire. He was hired by the owner of a children's hospital to burn it down and make it look like faulty wiring done by a big business contractor, so the owner would get a huge pay out at the expense of about 70 sick children. He hadn't cared at first, even thought it was merciful to end these children's suffering. Then he remembered sitting by Steve's bedside as he was sick, always so sick, remembered sneaking into the TB ward with him to visit Aunt Sarah when she was sick. He thought of what he'd feel if some asshole took their lives into his hands and then destroyed it. He realized he was wrong but by the time he rounded the corner of the street, the place exploded and there was nothing he could do. The smell of burning flesh reminded him of Department X burning, of being locked in Zola's lab and all the tortures concocted in the name of science. That was when his mind went, shattered and trapped with those memories playing on a loop in his head._

_Lastly, Drakov's daughter (and that one was a doozy). There was a turf war going on between some Irish and Russian mob families and he was hired to destroy the main Russian boss. He still held no love for Russia and all she took from him and he was trying desperately to cling to his waning will to survive, so he took the job. It required he kill Drakov's wife first, then to kidnap his daughter. He pretended he was hired by Drakov to watch over his daughter so he could get close to her. No one told him 19-year-old Tatianna Drakov was 9 months pregnant but him being who he was, it shouldn't have mattered and at first it didn't. He had taken her using his bodyguard cover and drove with her the two hours it would take to reach his base. But on the way, his resolve wavered._

_He found that Tatianna was bold and outspoken like Evie. She was funny and high spirited like Rosie. She was a sweet girl who maybe had her head in the clouds a little too often but was cleverer than people would give her credit for just like Becca. She had vibrant red hair like Natalia and soft blue eyes like Aunt Sarah, a smile that was all teeth like Ma with sarcasm constantly spilling past her lips like Steve and a laugh that could fill an underground bar in France with noise as the Howling Commandos had done many a time. Tatianna was seemingly sent to completely destroy him, God's way of paying him back for the temple. Killing her wouldn't be just killing her, this girl he barely knew that took to him and trusted him immediately, it would be killing every good thing he ever had in his multiple lives. So instead he had driven in indecision right into a snowstorm. He tried to get them to a hospital as the stress of the situation made her go into labor, but the road was icy and he crashed. She died instantly, her head having crushed against the windshield. After all he'd just been through one of them had to survive in his mind, so he had cut the baby out of her and started walking, trying to get to a town and some civilization but logically he knew he was miles from people and no one would be out in a blizzard like this. By the time he reached a town, Tatianna's daughter was already gone. He felt what was left of his heart wither to near non-existence when he felt the newborn take her last breath in his arms._

_Neither would've died without his intervention and he didn't cope well with that reality. He was right back where he started after he left the Red Room, wishing to die but this time every part of him was not as opposed. He was dangerous, he was a horrible person, he was a monster and he didn't deserve to live free. He had been scraping at the end of morality barrels to survive (because he was not living) at the expense of others' lives and he couldn't do it anymore._

_He knew well enough there were those looking for him and so he decided to pursue the attentions of an organization he thought would simply kill him (because he couldn't do it himself), which found him in Budapest with Agent Barton._

_The man intrigued him, he was good with a bow and arrow – he'd give him that – and though he did want to die he couldn't make it easy, a part of him still desperately clung to life. Barton did win eventually after they had to team up at a point to stop some old KGB agents from reopening the monster factory. Barton saved him from being their petri dish and once they were alone, he finally didn't have any fight left. He took off all his guns, discarded his knives and got on his knees before the man._

_"What are you doing? Sorry man but I don't go for that."_

_"You got me out of there."_

_"Any sane person would."_

_"I know you think you were saving my life but you weren't. You should've just let me die. The things I've done... and I can't blame it on them. It was me, I got away from them and I was still a monster, an even worse one because I knew what I was doing. I can't be this anymore. There is nothing left for me here, nothing left to do but die and I'm ready. So, do it." Barton tilted his head at him with interest and cautiously reached behind for an arrow. He made no move to stop him. Barton stared a while longer before he seemed to come to some conclusion. He knocked an arrow and then let it loose at his chest. He fell back but the arrow didn't go through. He pulled it out as his head started swimming and saw a needle was at the end. He couldn't even speak and felt himself falling back as black dotted his vision. He didn't know if he should be relieved or disappointed._

Bucky walked out of Loki's cell with a sense of urgency but stopped short as Steve stood outside the room. He was holding a large gun in his hand and staring at Bucky with that look again.

"That's what it was. I was trying to figure out what it was about you that was so different. A lot of things are but it's that, right there. The lying. It comes so easily to you now, doesn't it?"

"Steve, we don't have time to talk abou—"

"What happened to you? Did SHIELD do this to you?" Bucky sighed to himself.

"No Steve, SHIELD didn't do this. If it weren't for SHIELD you wouldn't have me right now. I've done so many things I regret, things I can’t even tell you because the way you would look at me… if you think I’m wrong now, you’d think I was a monster if you knew everything.” Steve stared at him for a moment more.

“Is it really that bad?”

“It’s that bad. And we don’t have time to get into it now. We have work to do first but later when I think you’re ready, when I’m ready, we’ll talk but not now.” Steve looked ready to protest but he nodded his head in acquiescence.

“Fine.”

It wasn’t until two years later that the conversation came up again, not until Bucky was standing on a highway across from Natalia, watching her try to kill Steve.

He had managed to avoid the entire conversation of it. He and Steve worked together on the special unit ordered by one of the higher ups, STRIKE. They worked well together, they always had, and the origins of his skills didn’t seem so important in a situation where both of them were engaged in covert ops. They got to spend time together and most times they would end up doing something normal and mundane after that. Bucky still tried to set Steve up every chance he could. Their interactions were comfortable and neither thought to poke the bear where Bucky’s past was concerned for fear of breaking the bubble they had created around themselves.

Things had actually started to look up. Barton would be back off leave soon after his encounter with Loki, he had managed to convince Steve to ask the guy he stalked on his morning runs out on a date (after he had properly checked Wilson’s background anyway), Bucky was making friends with the guys on the STRIKE taskforce, something Fury had accused him of not being good at, and his favorite gelato place had finally gotten a new shipment of stracciatella. Things were looking up, and then they rapidly fell apart after Fury was apparently killed and SHIELD turned on them.

They were the one thing he had thought he got right ever since the war, only for it to turn out he had still been working for HYDRA the whole time. And now here was Natalia, right on cue to fuck his head up even more.

He was frozen, watching she and Steve fight from across the street. He watched Natalia kick at him, her prosthetic leg coming forth with crushing force, but Steve was strong enough to counter her. They sparred, and Steve ripped the mask from her face. She only looked a few years older than she had all those years ago, meaning they only had let her out a few times. Her hair was cut shorter, but she was as beautiful as ever and as deadly. She went to attack Steve again and he found his tongue.

“Natalia!” He called after her. She paused and turned to look at him. She stared at him and he almost thought she recognized him as she gazed at him with squinted eyes but after a moment passed, she pointed the gun at him again. She had already shot him in the shoulder and now she pointed the gun at his head. Just then, Wilson came swooping in and kicked her into a car, breaking the shot. She stared at him for another second before turning back to Steve, intent to shoot him. Bucky shot the grenade launcher in his hands at the car next to her and forced her concentration away once more until the police came in and forced her away. It took him a moment to realize it was HYDRA and not the police but his mind was away with her.

_She didn’t know me, again._

**~*~*~**

“Steve, don’t— maybe just give him some time.” Bucky heard as he was getting his shoulder patched up by Maria. The base Fury had been hiding out in was gray and made of concrete. He had been staring at the wall absentmindedly while Maria sewed him up, but the conversation between Wilson and Steve broke his staring match.

“Did you see what happened out there, Sam?” He heard Steve grouse. He sounded upset.

“I did, but going in there like _this_? You might say something you regret. Maybe just cool it first.” Wilson advised.

A part of Bucky wanted to take the out Wilson was offering him, but another was too anxious not to just get this conversation over with.

“Stevie?” Bucky called. The blonde made his way around the corner after a moment. Bucky looked at him and realized he was wrong. Steve wasn’t upset, he was mad.

“Who is she?” Steve demanded to know.

“The way you talked about her earlier, you made it seem like you barely knew her, like she was just someone you heard some things about that shot you once, but on that bridge, the look on your face, you know her.”

“Steve, look, it’s—”

“Don’t tell me it’s complicated. That’s all you’ve said about your past whenever I’ve asked you. I accepted it, but that was before your past ripped my boyfriend’s steering wheel out through the roof of his car and then got into a gunfight with us in the middle of the day during heavy traffic on a freeway.” Bucky gave him a sad smile.

“I don’t tell you it’s complicated because I want to be purposefully evasive, it’s because that’s the truth. Not everything in my head is easy to grasp. There are memories that are fabricated, things that are implanted and it’s hard to sort through it all sometimes. And the stuff that I know for sure are real, it’s… it’s bad, punk. It’ll change how you think of me.” Steve’s face softened then.

“We’re not those kids from Brooklyn anymore, Buck. I already think differently of you and you think differently of me. I just want something from you. You remember her, even if you don’t remember everything else. What happened to you? Who is she?”

Bucky sighed to himself. It was a long and bloody story, not one he wanted to get into, but Steve stood staring at him expectantly and he could see even Maria’s interest was piqued, having never heard much more about Natalia and his past than Steve had. He didn’t want Steve to know all the shit he’d waded in, but he deserved the truth.

“It started a few years after the war…”


	2. Chapter 2

There were explosions. Blue lights. Men were yelling. Men were dying. War was playing out in living color around him. He wasn't sure what he expected, maybe he had been too hasty in his decision to enlist and escape his stifling, impoverished Brooklyn neighborhood to think of the war itself. He had hesitated because who was going to save Steve's ass every time he went looking for a fight? Who was going to protect Evie from the neighborhood rats who only wanted one thing from her? Who was going to break up Rosie and Becca's squabbles? Who was going to make his Ma smile when she had a particularly tiresome day at work? Who was going to take her out dancing on Saturdays now like Pop used to before he died in that no-good factory? But despite his misgivings, he did enlist, and his family supported that decision even though Steve wanted to be there with him. Bucky wasn't quiet about his relief at the multiple rejections Steve received.

Bucky was young, but he moved to the position of sergeant quickly; partly because of his skills and aptitude while under attack and partly because Dum Dum Dugan firmly denied the position. Now these men’s lives were in his hands. He chose to surrender during the big HYDRA attack because he figured it’d be better to live to fight another day. They worked hard labor and when he himself could no longer work, they took him to experiment on. They pumped him full of all kinds of drugs. It burned its way through his system, changing him as it went along. He was rescued by the man he called his brother, fought alongside him, but in the end it meant nothing because he fell and fell and fell and…

Bucky jumped awake. He blinked his eyes in confusion, taking in his surroundings. The room he was in was painted black. The lights were dim and he had a feeling he was not alone in this place and never would be. He felt something shift to his side and his head snapped towards his right. There was a boy there. He was blonde, maybe 11 years old, and he was looking at him with something like concern. The boy reached towards his left side like he was going to grab his hand before pulling back and looking at him with a hint of fear. He looked at his left arm and felt his stomach drop when he saw it was not there at all. Suddenly everything clicked. He was not Bucky Barnes, though that dream world was very appealing up until the end, he was Yakov Burdeyev and he was the property of Department X.

The boy, Number Six his mind supplied, recovered quickly and started pulling on Yakov’s right arm insistently. He was mumbling at him in garbled Russian. His jaw was still swollen from the last disciplinary action taken against him. Yakov was not a number like the boy was, which was something to be thankful for. He had a history, memories (for however unreliable and hazy they were) but he knew what it was to be wrapped in the arms of a loving mother unlike the other boys. He had a name that he was allowed to keep. To him it meant he couldn’t be replaced, there could be another Six but there was only one Yakov Bennett. That didn’t mean he wanted to be in a position to be potentially replaced so he quickly stood just as the doors opened and placed Six behind him in one fluid movement. It felt strange moving his body, like he was all muscle memory and no active execution. He wasn’t sure why he put Six behind him. It felt instinctual and he looked a bit like… someone. The blonde boy, man, person from Yakov’s dream life whose face and name had already slipped away resembled Six a lot. Six was a sickly boy, 11 years old but the height and stature of a 7 or 8-year-old. He would not survive, Yakov knew. He had woken him up instead of letting him get picked off by their superiors like all the other boys in their room would and have done before. Yakov was an anomaly for having survived for as long as he had with only one arm to boot, but he was skilled even so. He was a good fighter, scrappy and fast and he could manipulate the others well enough. 

Whatever their superiors said to them flew over his head. It was the same every day anyway. There were fifteen other boys in the room with him and Six, but none said anything to anyone, not the guards or each other. He did not speak either, not even to Six. They got up, showered no more than five minutes, shaved whatever stubble they had (he wasn’t sure how old he was, such a question would demand disciplinary action, but he had enough stubble to constitute as the beginnings of a beard). They then went to training. They trained more with weapons than anything else, but he did know some hand-to-hand combat. It wasn’t always something he knew he knew; his mind could be a maze at times but that was normal in this place. He knew what he knew, and he used it to his benefit, (and to Six’s benefit most times). He was the only one in his program with the disadvantage of a missing limb. He didn’t remember much of the solitary event of losing his arm, but he remembered his American father shooting his Russian mother to death. He remembered fleeing to the Motherland with some of her family members only for him to hunt them down and kill them. Somewhere in his father’s bloodbath, Yakov’s arm had been violently severed from his shoulder. Next thing he knew he was waking up in a hospital without an arm.

He was still just a boy laying forlornly in a medical bay when the men from Department X offered him a place among them with the promise that they were looking into creating prosthetics beyond most people’s imaginations, though it would take time and Yakov would have to prove himself worthy. There was the bonus that he would be able to make American scum like his father pay for their sins. It was either that or an orphanage and who would adopt the half capitalist boy with the American surname missing one arm? So, he had agreed with little prompting. He wondered if he were older if he would have deliberated a bit more. Maybe he would’ve, maybe not. It didn’t matter now, he was training to be a soldier. He was the eyes, ears and fist of the Republic. He would do all he was made and ordered to in order to see to Russia’s succession in the world, but until then he would make sure he and Six were able to live to see another day. 

It wasn’t always easy protecting Six. Most days he wondered why he bothered at all. All emotions and inclinations and desire were supposed to have been beaten out of him a long time ago, but he wanted to help Six. He was not suited for this life. Perhaps it would be less cruel if he simply killed Six himself. He would show him more mercy than they would, but cruelty wasn’t something that was beaten out of him. 

**~*~*~**

He had put the dream life of Bucky Barnes far behind him and it was three months later that he noticed Six was missing. He waited until the dead of night to go searching. The guards’ lips were rarely ever sealed when one of them went missing and only left behind an empty bed for another number to fill. He learned with some patience that Six was taken to the Grey Room. It was mostly kept secret what they did in the Grey Room but most evidence pointed towards termination. When he made it to the Grey Room after silently tip-toeing through the halls, he found there was only one guard outside the door which he found strange, but it was to his benefit. He recognized the man, Sergeant Waltz. 

He was notorious for rooting out the boys in the Department X and other predominantly male programs who started relationships with each other. He remembered vividly the beating he'd given two 14-year-old boys he found kissing in a closet. There was enough prejudice in Department X to go around but the way he went after the boys with such fervor trying to beat their "wrongness" into their head made him think perhaps he had someone try to do the same thing to him. He probably beat it into himself every time he gave into his desire which Yakov was certain from the way he walked, was a lot more often than he would dare admit. Yakov put on a coy smile with just enough innocence and uncertainty. Waltz would want someone he thought was weak and would not tell his secret. His missing arm would only play up his apparent weakness. He did not usually do undercover work, that was not what they trained him to do, but they were all liars and he could lie well enough. It was for Six, so he could do it.

Yakov slipped around the corner with his smile in place and his eyes filled with false emotion. Waltz didn't notice him at first.

"Hello soldier." Waltz jumped a bit before turning towards him.

"What are you doing here? You should be in bed." He said scathingly. Yakov shrugged his shoulders and walked a little closer.

"Couldn't sleep. I was wandering the halls when I came upon you."

"Wandering will get you killed, boy."

"Or it will get me other things." He replied, walking closer and letting some uncertainty slip. Waltz tensed up a little and he knew it was working.

"Other things?"

"Yes, other things." Yakov was in Waltz’s personal space but didn't touch him, he'd let him take that step. Waltz grabbed him by his shirt collar and slammed him against the wall, pressing a knife to his throat.

 _Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I miscalculated._ Yakov thought as the cold blade pressed even deeper into his skin.

“Who sent you? Who told you? I’ll kill you and them!”

 _Or maybe not._ Yakov played up false fear and confusion.

“No one sent me. I just… there aren’t many things here that any of us can claim as ours or as something good. I just… I wanted something good, just for a night. That’s all.” Yakov replied, pouring enough desperation, naivety and innocence into his voice to make Waltz think that he was just a boy who probably wouldn’t survive the Department X and simply wanted something more. 

Waltz stared into his eyes and he wondered what he saw, probably not anything other than what Yakov wanted him to see because before he knew it the older man was kissing him. His beard brushed against Yakov’s cheek and chin as he kissed him. Yakov didn’t mind the kiss, it didn’t feel much different than kissing a girl (he had no idea how he knew how that felt but there were memories of it that he couldn’t really place). Waltz kissed him hard and desperate like he knew this moment would not last and Yakov let him continue kissing him. He didn’t stop him when his hands moved to his groin, because it wasn’t a total lie. Good things were rare in Department X and he did want something good, something he could call his but it was not Waltz, he was just a means to an end. So, Yakov ran his fingers down Waltz’s arm, the one holding the knife, and faster than he even knew he was capable of being, he took the blade from him and drove it into the base of Waltz's skull. It was easy, it didn’t make him feel anything.

Once Waltz fell to the floor, Yakov opened the door and walked into the room he was guarding with no preamble. There was no one just beyond the door but there was a wall of glass right across from him. He walked to the glass cautiously and discovered it was overlooking a lab and strapped on the table surrounded by their superiors was Six. He didn’t have to look very long to tell he was too late, Six was dead. This? This made him feel something. He felt like his stomach and his heart switched places if that meant anything. He felt like he was swaying a bit, like his eyes were burning, he felt like he had failed. Maybe if he hadn’t lost himself a bit in Waltz, he could’ve saved Six but then maybe not. There were four of their superiors in the room with four armed guards. He would’ve failed anyway. He didn’t move when he heard footsteps behind him, didn’t do anything when the guards dragged him down the steps and informed their superiors of what he had done and didn’t stop them when they slipped a needle into his neck.

He woke up on a bed perhaps a few hours later. The room he was in was small but not black or grey and that was something to be thankful for. He knew he was not in the room by himself and there was no point in acting like he didn’t know this or that he was still unconscious, so he turned his head towards the foot of his bed and there sat General Karpov himself. Yakov had met him before a few times but he was more invested in other programs rather than the boys who were just going to be guards or soldiers. He wondered why he was not dead, he had killed a guard and that was a violation of their rules. He stared at Karpov and said nothing, waiting for him to say his piece.

“I saw the video tape of your exploits in the hall. Waltz is one of the staunchest enemies of the gays that I know of, yet you managed to seduce him with a few words and batting of your eyelashes. Incredible.” Karpov showed little emotion but Yakov felt a bit of pride well up in him at his compliment.

“Waltz was one of those gays.” He replied, not letting that pride show. Karpov did not look surprised.

“Of course he was but no one else knew that, so how did you?”

“He went after them too hard, with too much fervor. He wore long gloves frequently, but I could still see some slash marks every now and again. He stared at other men's faces too hard, like he was trying not to stare at anything else that might interest him and any time he beat one of the boys he said the same thing every time. I imagine that’s what was said to him whenever he was caught. I knew he wanted his inclinations to be kept secret, so I figured he would want a boy who looked vulnerable and like he wouldn’t talk, like he wouldn’t even be here for very much longer, so I made myself look that way. The missing arm didn't hurt that image. It was easier to get to him with just a few words when I projected the right emotions to fit the image I'd created. He already had the knife in his hand and once he was relaxed enough—"

“You stabbed him in the skull, killed him instantly. Hmm. I suppose it was because you wanted to protect Six. Don’t bother denying that, I’ve been watching you." Karpov looked over him with contemplation. Yakov stayed still, wondering what punishment he had garnered. 

 _Anything but the rod_ , he thought. Images of the phallic torture tool and the flailing girl or boy who had the misfortune of receiving that repercussion flashed through his mind. He'd make them kill him before they could get it inside of him.

"I have a proposition for you, Yakov. There is a program I think you will do well in. It is a program usually only for girls, every boy has failed, but you show promise beyond what I’ve seen in some time. Of course there will be benefits for you. We have finally finished a prosthetic we are very comfortable about, it will make you even greater along with this new training. If you succeed in this program you could be one of our best assets. You could help push the Motherland one step closer to our goal.” It didn’t escape his notice that the General did not specify what that goal was, but it struck Yakov that he had a choice. If he did not consent to this change there was no question he would die for killing Waltz or get much worse. Perhaps this deal was better. He would finally have two arms again. He could be great. He could mean something. He could pull away from being quantified into a number. He wouldn’t be the only one to know his name or his face, others would too. He could be known in Department X, he could be a template, an inspiration to others. He just wanted them to know he existed. Karpov held out his hand to him. Yakov could die in anonymity or he could live and be great. There was a metaphoric rope and he could either tie a noose around his own neck or let Karpov pull him out of the dark. 

He grabbed the rope.

**~*~*~**

The surgery had been long and grueling. Conventional pain medication didn't work on him, so they had given him something else that made it so he couldn't move but still felt all the pain of being hacked and ripped apart. He supposed, in a way, it was punishment for killing Waltz. He ended up passing out and dreamed about Bucky Barnes again. He hadn't done so in a while and he largely forgot what the dream was about when he woke, though he thought the oldest sister Evelyn featured heavily. He didn't care what shenanigans these fantasies got up to because at the end of all the pain he endured, he got a new arm. It was pristine metal but not as heavy as one would think. It moved when he commanded, though moving it hurt like hell at first. Gradually, he was able to move it without feeling like he was being ripped apart. 

Every day for about two weeks someone would come into his private room and help him get used to his new arm as well as his shoulder and some parts of his spine and chest, which they metallized to make sure the arm worked properly. It wasn't pleasant, but he let the end goal of being remembered push him. After those two weeks were up and he was able to walk comfortably with his new center of gravity and could shoot a gun accurately enough, he was moved to a room much like he had been in before. Instead of black, it was a large red room with around 18 neatly made cots with a wooden box on the end and this room was full of girls instead of boys. They were all in their late teens to early twenties. Some looked at him with fear when he was led in, some with contempt, some with interest and some with faces so devoid of emotion he knew it was forced. They put him in a bed in the middle of the room, the guard chuckling a bit vindictively at him. Yakov didn't say anything. Once the guard left, he put his meager things away and sat on his bed, ignoring the whispers and the stares.

"So, you're the new competition then? I suppose they're paying extra attention to you, pretty boy." He looked up and a blonde girl was stood at the end of his bed. She was speaking to him in English but it had an accent to it. It wasn't Russian or American, more a bastardized British accent.

“Leave him alone, Yelena.” He heard a voice say but he didn’t acknowledge that voice and neither did the blonde, Yelena.

"They are, aren't they? 'Course they are because you're a boy and despite the fact us women are clearly the superior agents, they still see males as the superior sex." She said with a sneer that told him all he needed to know of her relationship with their superiors. Yakov said nothing because he didn't feel there was a superior sex in Department X. They were all of them tools to further the succession of the Motherland. Men were not superior to women. Women could create, think, destroy, lie, fight, steal, kill or die just as well as any man and make just as big an impact. He had no doubt of that, but something told him this Yelena did not care for anything he had to say, so he ignored her until she walked away. He stayed like that on his bed caressing the metal arm, watching the gears and plates light up blue and twist and turn as he moved. He ignored all the girls around him until it was lights out. He slept light that night just in case any of them tried anything.

He went to training the next day with the girls. He was behind them, but he caught up quickly enough over the next few months. He felt like he was making strides towards something. He had reached the top of his classes quickly enough. Language classes were easy, especially since he already spoke English fluently, it was just a matter of losing his acquired accent. Dance class was easy too. Dance was just something that seemed to come easily to him. Etiquette and music classes were not demanding and he breezed through them. Weapons and hand to hand combat was a little harder but he caught up. The metal arm helped a lot, it did inspire fear in some and interest in others, but it was a precise instrument and it was an advantage he’d be loath to waste.

Then there were the other classes, the less conventional but necessary classes. There were endurance classes to make sure they could withstand torture. They were taught to torture as well. There were sex education classes, it was all very clinical but they were taught how to use their bodies to bring others pleasure. Yakov had a separate teacher for that and they were all taught how to please both genders. For however much prejudice existed in Department X, it meant nothing out there where there were missions to complete and weaknesses to exploit. They also took seduction classes. This he did take with the girls. They were taught everything from how to talk, walk, move their body and fake emotion effortlessly. They could make someone think they were the love of their life one second and their sworn enemy the next. The ability half-thrilled Yakov and half-concerned him that perhaps one day he wouldn't know how to stop lying, but greatness came at a price and that was a small one to pay.

Yelena was competing with him. She wanted to prove herself, especially to their handler and main instructor, Master Dankov. Dankov was a lecherous man and he’d seen him staring at him and some of the other girls in ways that made them uncomfortable, but for Yakov he held that knowledge close to chest as something that he could use later on. It came in handy when he happened upon Dankov and Yelena in a hallway one night. Yelena was clearly struggling against his grasp as he held her against the wall. He was whispering something to her Yakov couldn’t hear but he knew well enough that Yelena didn’t appreciate it. He knew the blonde would not like being seen as weak or in need of help either, but he could remember his father holding his mother against walls, hitting her and cursing at her and denouncing her Russian heritage and he couldn’t not step in. He made noise as he walked down the hallway to alert Dankov to his presence and he jumped away from Yelena when Yakov came into view.

“Yakov, what are you doing around these parts?” Dankov asked with anger but he still looked him over lustfully. Yakov completely ignored his presence and focused solely on Yelena.

“Lena, there you are!” He said with a wide smile on his face. She seemed surprised at first but quickly smiled as Dankov looked over at her with anger and jealousy.

“I hope you haven’t been looking for very long, Yakov. I just had to discuss something regarding training with Master Dankov but we’re finished now.” She removed her arm a bit forcefully from Dankov’s grip and Yakov grabbed her hand, pulling her along with him away from the man. He threw a disarming smile back at Dankov who was watching as he and Yelena walked away hand in hand with disdain before turning back around. Once they were around the corner, Yelena pulled her hand away from him and wrapped her arms around her chest.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.” They walked in silence the rest of the way to their bedroom. They said nothing of the incident after that, but Yelena would correct something he did and give him sweets that she convinced some of the guards to smuggle in for her and he would act as a buffer between her and Dankov, using the man’s attraction to him to pull him away from her when she needed the reprieve from his attentions. She reminded him of someone too, much like Six had. Not so much in looks but more so in the way she carried herself. He wasn’t sure who it was she reminded him of and he didn't want to think on it for long. It appeared that once Yelena warmed to him, the other girls followed. This program was different than the other. They all got to keep their names. There was an unspoken competition, but there were more alliances formed in this program and they actually talked to each other. One thing that remained unchanged was the shadowy haze that was past memory. Sometimes they stayed up and told each other things they remembered, little things, mostly good things.

Ksenia talked about a hike through the mountains with who she thought was her grandfather. Alesandra talked about remembering how it felt to play in the rain with other children who might've been her siblings or her cousins or just neighborhood children, she wasn't sure. Dasha, the oldest girl in the program, talked about holding and feeding a baby. She wasn't sure whose child it was, it might've even been her own, but she remembered the intense feeling of peace she had in the memory.

This program utilized Dr. Rodchenko much more than any other in Department X, they told each other these things so if they somehow ended up on the wrong end of the scientist's demonic hands and instruments, there would be someone who knew something about the real them. If they were lucky enough, that someone might tell them this one memory, so they at least had something good to cling to. It might be all that gave them the will to live one day. He felt that doing this, telling the girls these memories, was even more poignant than entrusting his life to them so he only gave the most inconsequential memory he could think of that still had substance to it. It was something or other about how his mother loved baking and how she always made blueberry muffins to cheer him up after his father had beat him for something trivial, like speaking Russian or dancing ballet or playing in the snow. He didn't let himself tell them something more, but in the middle of the night Yelena would crawl into his bed and tell him about how she used to have a family – a father, a mother, a sister and brother – how they died in a fire she suspected their superiors set, how they offered her "a better life", how they twisted her memories but she remembered the truth. She had been keeping it a secret for years. He felt compelled to tell her something then, so he told her about his dream life as Bucky Barnes. 

He dreamed of it more and more now, but most details flew to the wind and he didn't try to keep them. They meant nothing, they were only getting in the way of what he wanted and that was to be one of the greatest assets Department X ever produced. Some idiot boy from Brooklyn laughing and running around his small apartment with his twin sisters on his back and shoulders wouldn't help him get there. That might've been something he would've wished for when he was sitting in his living room in America cowering behind his mother as his drunken father waved a broken liquor bottle at them threateningly, but not now. 

Yelena had a strange look on her face when he told her of his dreams and his lack of care about them like she wanted to say something but she didn't, instead she turned the conversation into a rant about the stupid, misogynistic guards and the patriarchy in the Red Room. He commented here and there but was content to listen intently and let her vent until she fell asleep. He was stunned that she could sleep next to him as easily as she did. She even threw his metal arm around her and cuddled into him. She trusted him. That made him feel something warm inside. It was happening more and more. His emotions kept bleeding through. 

Before he felt nothing except protectiveness towards Six, the slightest hint of pride at surviving as long as he had and anger at everything they were taught to hate but now he felt affection towards Yelena (not romantically, more in the way Bucky felt about his sisters), he felt protective over all the girls and made sure none of the guards snuck into the room at night or cornered any of them, but mostly he felt ambition. This was new. It wasn't that it was discouraged but it still wasn't instilled in him. He wanted to be great and that desire possibly outweighed any desire to bring glory to Mother Russia. Despite his newfound range of emotion, he felt more settled in his new place in life, he felt… just more. He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure he should be feeling anything at all, but he was.

It was then that he met her.


	3. Chapter 3

One day when Yakov and the girls entered the room where they trained, there was a woman there. She was on the shorter side with long springy red curls. She stood in the corner with her back ramrod straight pulling her hair back into a bun. She was older than the rest of them, even Dasha. He estimated she was in her mid to late twenties. She had on a tight tank top with baggy pants. She leisurely took off her trainers and then her long socks. She rolled her pant legs up and that’s when he saw it. Her right leg was metal. He heard the others gasp and whispers began. The name the Winter Soldier was said more than a few times. 

He heard of the Winter Soldier. Everyone in Department X had heard of the Soldier. She was a ghost, she was Karpov’s personal pistol. When she was sent to kill someone, they were already dead. She never missed, she never failed, and she did not feel anything. She was the ultimate weapon and she was here. There was a lot of rumors about her origins. Some said she was just an orphan who was conditioned from childhood. Some said she was the daughter of a former agent who was trying to defect, so their daughter was taken as punishment. Some said she willingly went to Rodchenko and Department X so she could be a greater asset to the Red Room. He did not know what was true of her but what he did know was that if she was here, they were not going to leave the room unscathed.

Dankov ordered them all to line up in the middle of the room and the woman leisurely walked up next to him. Dankov looked uncomfortable around her and possibly frightened.

“You have a new instructor, comrades. She will teach you more advanced combat training. Pay attention to all she does and says, and you will truly be some of the greatest instruments the Republic has ever produced.” She didn’t say anything. She stepped forward and looked over the line-up of trainees. When her eyes reached him, they lingered on his metal arm for a few extra seconds but then they moved on. Without prompting, she pointed to one of the older girls in the program. The girl stepped forward nervously and the red woman looked her up and down with disinterest before speaking.

“Attack me.” She ordered. The trainee looked frightened at first and looked to Dankov for affirmation.

“Do as she says, Emelie.” Emelie moved to a fighting stance but the red woman did not move, she stood relaxed among the mats that matched her hair color. Emelie ran at her with a scream. Yakov anticipated the move she would make before she executed it and apparently so did the woman, because as soon as Emelie rose her arm to throw a punch the woman reached out towards her forearm and then a snap resounded in the room. Emelie fell to the floor holding on to her broken arm while tears of pain ran down her face. Dankov seemed even more frightened and put off but he snapped at Emelie to stand. She refused to do so and the red woman seemed not to care, she just pointed at another girl. Yakov watched her with this next girl and in the end, she punched her in the throat causing her to fall whilst struggling for breath.

He observed silently as the woman went through their line up as if it was nothing. She mostly swatted them off like flies but there were some instances where the girls put up some struggle against her. He got to see the leg in action when she fought Yelena. She wielded it with much more ease and surety than he moved his arm. She knew what she was doing and she did it well. Yelena was a very good fighter, they sparred often after hours, but she was on the mat holding her stomach in pain within a minute and a half. When the woman pointed to him, he didn’t hesitate to step forward but he didn’t attack her like the others had. They stood motionless across from each other while he tried to come up with some kind of strategy. He didn’t see very much weakness in her during her fights. The leg would be a problem and she seemed strong. Abnormally strong. She showed no emotion at all when she was breaking the girls. He wasn’t sure how he was going to get out of this one, but perhaps he’d be able to rile her up and she’d make a mistake.

“So, you’re the Winter Soldier? You’re a lot shorter than I expected.” He said as they began circling each other on the mat. She looked surprised that he said something to her, and of all the things to say it had been a comment on her height.

“Did they dye your hair for continuity purposes or is that just a happy mistake?” Her eyebrows scrunched more as he continued speaking.

“And the leg, I’d be more in awe if I didn’t have this.” He said, holding up his metal hand and wiggling his fingers a bit. She still did not speak, though it looked like she was struggling to regain composure. 

“I suppose you’ll be here for a while. Are we going to have to call you the Winter Soldier the entire time? It’s kind of a mouthful.” She set her jaw minutely, but he was close enough to see.

“Well?” He asked, raising an eyebrow challengingly. Something flashed in her eyes at his challenge, it might’ve been anger, but it was gone before he could decipher it and almost before he could even comprehend it, she lashed her arm out at him. He jumped out of the way just in time and managed to dodge the follow up punch she aimed at his chest. He faked a punch to her stomach and then punched out at her face, making sure to use his metal arm in case she caught on to his move and tried to break his arm. She ducked back and fell into a crouch in front of him.

“We all have names in this program. If you don’t tell me, I’ll start to make things up.” She tried to roundhouse kick him, but he dodged that. Unfortunately, he wasn’t fast enough to stop the kick that swept him off his feet but he turned it into a roll away from her and was on his feet in record time. He ran at her and the two immediately started trading blows. They would both block and weave and dodge from the other's punches and hits. When she threw her metal leg out at him, he would mostly stop it using his metal arm. The sound of the metals hitting each other filled the room as they fought. It didn’t escape his notice that he’d been fighting her the longest out of all of them. He was mostly on defense because she moved so quickly but his eyes were able to catch the motion before he even knew he could, and he exhibited bursts of strength to rival hers.

She made to kick at his temple and he blocked with his metal forearm, but the bang that occurred when the two metals clashed rung directly into his ear and disoriented him enough for her to knee him in the ribs with the leg. He doubled over, holding his abdomen and she kicked up at him with her flesh and blood foot, catching his chin and sending him flying down to the mat. He knew from the way he was breathing that she probably fractured or cracked at least two of his ribs and he could taste blood in his mouth from him biting his tongue as she kicked his chin. He tried to move to stand back up, but he struggled to do so with his breathing getting more and more labored. He could hear her walking away back towards the group and he felt insulted that she had dismissed him already. If he wanted to be great like she was then he would need to do better than this. 

He steeled himself and gathered every ounce of strength and anger that he possessed and stood up. He ran at her while her back was turned and lashed out with his metal arm. She turned at the last minute and used it as leverage to vault into the air and wrap her legs around his neck. He knew this move and he knew how to counter it. He wasn’t at tiptop shape but as she moved to flip him over, he used her momentum against her mid-flip so she would take the brunt of the hit instead of him. It was sloppy execution and his efforts still made him land awkwardly on his already injured ribs, making breathing even more of a chore, but he’d done it for however much that meant in the end. The room was silent from what he could hear but soon he heard movement and then she was standing above him staring down at him with something akin to interest. She stared at him for a long while and he stared back not able to say anything even if he wanted to (and he did want to). She stared for longer before she turned to Dankov.

“This one I can work well with… and that one as well.” She said, pointing to Yelena who uncharacteristically jumped at being singled out. Her voice was blank, Russian accent not too thick but sounding authentic enough.

“The rest remain to be seen.” She walked back to the line while throwing a blank look back at him and pointed to a girl she hadn’t sparred with yet. He felt hands help him to stand up and support his weight in a way that made it easier for him to breathe. He did not know if this meant he won or lost, but it did make a wave of pride well up in him. Dangerous thing to start feeling.

**~*~*~**

They continued on after that. They trained with the Soldier most days in hand-to-hand and with Dankov the other days. Yakov and some of the others, like Yelena, had private sessions as well. His were usually after all classes had been dismissed. A select few of them got to go on field trips of sorts with her. He and Yelena were among that group. They watched her, huddled together against the cold, as she coldly used a sniper rifle to shoot a Hungarian diplomat mid-speech. Then they got to watch her take an entire room apart. It was a spectacle to say the least. Then there was a quiet one, a single needle in a woman's neck and a few pieces of evidence that would put the blame on a French oil tycoon. It was both a frightening and awe-inspiring display. She pulled it all off effortlessly, such grace and efficiency, such deadly accuracy. He saw in her what he wanted to become. She really was amazing.

He still talked to her or tried to anyway. At first, he would ask questions about her which he found frustrated her quickly. The thought crossed his mind that maybe she didn't remember her past. He thought of all the boys in his old program who were numbers instead of names, they were replaceable, just cogs in a machine that would throw them out when they began to rust. But that wasn't her, he'd seen her fight, he'd seen her in the field. She could not possibly be quantified to a number. She had to have a name. She wouldn't tell him what it was though. After it was clear she wouldn't answer his questions, he'd just talk. He'd talk about any and everything. He'd talk about what he wanted to be. He talked about Master Dankov and his lustfulness and joke about how it was possible that the Soldier was the only person who he didn't salivate over. He talked about Yelena and their unlikely friendship or camaraderie at least and his hope that they could complete the program together and be partners. He talked about what he remembered about America. Geographically, there was a beauty to it despite the ugliness of the people who lived there. The first few days she'd just look at him with confusion then one day she stopped him from leaving after class.

"Stop." She said simply. 

"Stop what?"

"Talking to me like that."

"Like what?" He asked with a grin.

"You know what I mean. You shouldn't be talking to me like that. We are not on the same level." His smile faltered a little. He hadn't been disrespecting her, he didn't think he was, but the way she said they weren't on the same level gave him pause.

"Of course not. You're above all of us." She stared at him like he said something wrong.

"Why would you say that?" He shrugged his shoulders.

"Because you're... you." He said as if that explained everything. In his mind, it explained it all. She seemed to understand his meaning as well.

"I'm no one and nothing. What is it they say? That I am a ghost? They are right. Ghosts don't earn reverence or respect. You keep asking for my name, I don't have one, just a title." He frowned.

"You have to have a name. I've seen what you can do. You've honored Department X more than any other here. You've earned your name more than anyone else."

"Why do you care?" She asked and that stumped him.

"I don't— I..." He trailed off before walking briskly out of the room.

He avoided her where he could after that, which wasn't much but he tried not to speak to her. She didn't try to speak to him either outside of ordering him to do a move again or giving him instruction, but he could feel her staring often. He would avoid her gaze.

It was late at night a week after that exchange and he couldn't sleep. He was going through the red test tomorrow and his body and mind were restless. If he passed, he'd be an agent, he'd matter exponentially more than he does now. He knew he wouldn't fall asleep unless he tired himself out, so he got up and silently walked out of the room and tried to decide what to do. He considered going to the range, grabbing a silencer and practicing shooting but he opted against it. He could dance. He did favor it, especially ballet but he was too keyed up for it. Ultimately, he decided to go to the training room and maybe pummel a dummy. When he walked down the hall, he could hear faint noises from inside, but they weren't distinct. He walked into the room and after deftly checking each shadowy corner for someone, he decided that he was either mistaken or they were still there, perhaps on the ceiling. He jumped out of the way just as the person dropped to the floor. When he turned, he saw that it was her, the Soldier. They didn't say anything but by unspoken agreement they got into a fight stance and started sparring.

They fought for hours. Most times, she won but he was able to pin her a few times. After more hours than he knew passed, they collapsed on the mats together. Well, he collapsed, she lowered herself gracefully. They were both sweating lightly, not something they did easily, and breathing a little heavier, but his mind felt a lot clearer and less chaotic and anxious. They sat quietly as their breathing returned to normal. He looked down and saw that one of the plates on her leg was a little dented from where he hit it with his metal fist. He absentmindedly stroked the little indentation with his gleaming fingers. He didn't feel much with the arm, he suspected the leg was the same. He glanced up and she was staring at him. Not apathetically or with anger but like he was a puzzle she wanted to figure out. Maybe this was the look he'd been avoiding. He wanted to move closer and press his lips to hers. He wanted to see if they were cold or warm, he wanted to see her.

He had kissed before. Not just Waltz, he kissed Yelena and the other girls all the time for practice in their seduction classes and he vaguely remembered other kisses he wasn't entirely sure were real, or perhaps just dreams from Bucky's life messing with his already shoddy memory. Either way, he couldn't recall kissing anyone because he wanted to. However, he couldn't do that. She was way too high above him, so just to be an active agent trained by her would have to be enough of an honor. He didn’t even know where the desire came from. She was a good-looking woman but he was surrounded by girls who would not be in the Red Room if they were anything less than desirable and he never gave them a second thought, but her… He began to pull back but she stopped him.

"Why did you stop?" He looked at her with confusion.

“You don’t talk to me anymore.”

“You told me to stop.”

“I know that. I just…” She trailed off. Her face grew more and more frustrated as the silence stretched on. She looked like she was trying to find words, but they evaded her.

“Not many people talk to you, do they?” He asked. She nodded.

"They fear you." Again, she nodded.

"And you see that as a bad thing?"

“You want to be an instrument for them, you want to be great and that is good, but you must sacrifice much for the Motherland.” She said with something that sounded a lot like sadness. He thought of the fact that she did not have a name and what that meant, at least in his mind. Yes, sadness was an apt word.

“How did you lose your leg? There are rumors but…” Her eyes shifted from him towards the ceiling as if it would answer his question.

"I don't remember."

"What about where you came from? Your parents or any family?" He might hate his father but at least he remembered him and his other family. She shook her head.

"I don't know." This was not what he wanted to hear. They all had one good thing, one good memory that they held to and felt would bring them back. What did she have?

"What do you remember before coming to train us?" She looked at him with eyes full of true sadness and he could see all her humanity in her gaze.

"Nothing. I don't remember anything." He felt that answer hit him straight in his gut. She didn't have anything, she didn't have anyone, all she had was a mission. He thought that was what he wanted, but did he want it in exchange for losing all his memories of his mother? Did he want to only be the property of Department X? Did he want to endure being at Rodchenko's mercy? No, he did not but what could he do? He made his decision, however misguided and misinformed it was, and he had to see it through.

"I— I'm sorry." He wished someone said that to him when he was laying in that hospital bed: an orphan, a cripple and a child about to sign his life away. He hadn't cared, he hadn't thought about what being the best could mean and now the best was standing in front of him. His future stood before him and it didn't look bright. Yet she still made him feel a curious sense of compassion and sympathy, especially when she looked up at him a bit startled at his apology before a smile struggled its way across her face. It sent a dagger through his heart and he had to walk away from her before he did something he'd regret or worse, something he wouldn't. He nodded to her before he stood up and began to walk away.

"James." He instantly stopped when she said that. No one here called him James, they called him the Russian version of his Anglican name. His mother gave him the name because she liked James more than Yakov, but she was the only one to call him James. His father referred to him as boy or whatever insult fell from his mouth that moment. Everyone in the Red Room called him Yakov. He hadn't heard the name James in reference to himself in quite some time, but the way she said it sent chills down his spine. He straightened his back and turned to her, ready to demand how she knew his name but the look on her face stilled his tongue. 

"You asked if I remember anything before coming to this program. I didn't completely tell the truth. I do remember a man, an older man, and he calls me... he says that I'm... Natalia. He calls me Natalia." She looked anxious as she said this to him, her eyes frequently straying from him, and he realized that she was nervous. He also realized she was trusting him. She was telling him one good memory she probably hadn't told anyone else, just like Yelena when she crawled into his bed, told him her secret and then fell asleep. Just like then warmth flooded his chest but not like how it was with Lena, not how Bucky felt about his sisters. He wasn't sure he had a comparison for this at all.

"Natalia." He tested out. He liked the way it felt saying it. She seemed like she was waiting for him to say something else.

"It's a beautiful name. Hello, Natalia." She managed a smile again and he tried to ignore the way her smile hesitated and fought to rise on her lips.

"My mother, she was the only one who called me James." He looked down, feeling a foreign sense of shyness hit him.

"But... I like how you say it." He peeked at her from under his eyelashes and she was smiling wider. He smiled back at her and it felt real, unlike the ones he forced on his face in order to create a false image of himself to others. He found that he liked being real, at least with her.

"Good luck tomorrow, I know you'll pass. Goodnight, James."

"Goodnight Natalia."

He went back to bed with a smile on his face.

**~*~*~**

He did pass but it wasn't for the reason he thought it would be. He did it because he wanted to survive but not for himself or to be great, he did it so he could still be with her. Maybe he could find a way to save her from inevitably being replaced. She had a name, she was not a number nor just a faceless ghost story. He would be strong, so they could leave this place together.

**~*~*~**

He didn't get to see very much of Natalia after that, or Yelena for that matter. Within a three month span he was sent to handle an extraction, two assassinations and some information trades. He pulled them all off effortlessly. Whenever he went back to base to give his mission reports, he'd catch glimpses of Natalia and they'd share a look, perhaps a smile if they were able but nothing more. If he and Yelena were at base together, they'd tell each other about their missions and sleep in the same bed.

He spent another three months undercover at a convent where there was a suspected traitor selling Russia's secrets to the highest bidder. He had barely finished burying the two traitors before he was called back to base. He hadn't been there in half a year so sleeping in his old bedroom was strange. All the girls were out in the world and he was there alone. He found himself unable to sleep just like the night before the red test. He made his way to the training room immediately, hoping against his better judgement that Natalia was there. She was. He was both surprised and glad she had not been put in ice, but he wouldn't bring that up. She was beating an already raggedy looking bag up and didn’t notice him. She used her metal leg and kicked the bag so hard it fell off the hook and on to its side limply.

"Poor thing never stood a chance, Natalia." She turned around to face him slowly and when she turned her face was blank, no recognition in her eyes at all.

"What did you call me?" She asked, not even a hint of emotion or inflection in her tone.

"Your... name?"

"I have no name. Do I know you personally, boy?" He wasn't sure how to respond. His heart might've stuttered in his chest and he might be letting too much show on his face, but before he could say more the Winter Soldier melted away as Natalia smiled widely and actually started laughing. That was new, he'd never heard her laugh but it made his heart stutter again (though for vastly different reasons.)

"You should've seen your face, James."

 _She pulled a prank on me. **She** pulled a prank on me._ He wasn't entirely sure what to do with that but he laughed as well (though it sounded weak to his ears).

"Yeah, you got me." Distantly, he wondered if she spent the last six months out of cryo. Probably if she had enough personality to pull a joke and laugh and actually exhibit human emotions, especially positive ones. She walked closer to him and he could almost detect an eagerness on the edges of her walk. How was she showing this much and still allowed to function?

"How's it been being an agent of the Red Room?"

"Things have gone well. No problems I haven't been able to take care of on my own." She smiled at that, but it was smaller and knowing. 

"I don't doubt that.”

“What have you been up to?” 

“I’ve been working closely with your fellow widows. I liaise with them, especially Yelena.” He wanted to ask how she was doing but didn’t. Natalia seemed to see the question in his eyes though.

“She’s on a deep cover mission right now as a training ballerina named Renata. I suspect that’s why they called you in, they wish to put you on this mission as well.” He perked up then. He had always wanted to work with Yelena and now he was getting a chance to do so. Natalia’s face gave him pause.

“This is good. I’ll get to work with Lena. We work well together.”

“Yes you do, but you will be in deep cover.”

“I’ve spent the last three months in deep cover. I can handle it, Natalia.”

“You spent the last three months undercover, deep cover is something else entirely.” She took a deep breath before continuing.

“You will spend some time with Rodchenko before you leave.” He felt his spine go ramrod straight as she continued speaking.

“He will condition you, implant memories of a whole new life into your head. Your cover will be such that you will believe it as well. There will be an agent who will trigger you as needed. You will still have missions but your cover will not remember this. It is not the same, James. It is not the same at all.” Yakov let out a shaky breath. It was everything he had wanted but everything he’d run from as well. He wanted to be with Yelena, he wanted them to be able to make it through this, he wanted her to get out of here one day with him and Natalia as well but he did not want anything to do with Dr. Rodchenko ever. He’d managed to stay away from that man’s chair (as far as he knew) for years, the thought of willingly walking into that man’s laboratory and laying on his table was gut wrenching and it made him feel nauseous in a way nothing else had ever made him feel. But he already had gotten to Yelena, she was out there after suffering at his hands and she wasn’t with anyone who truly cared about her, so what choice did he have? It seemed he always came to this conclusion in his life, that he really and truly had no choice. He’d been fine with that for years and then he met Natalia and he saw what being passive could turn him into. But he looked at the redhead now and she was staring at him with such concern in her eyes, such genuine concern, when did this happen?

“Stop it.” He finally couldn’t take being silent anymore. She looked at him with confusion but there was still concern there. She was looking at him with compassion and something else that had him shaking his head and walking closer to her with what he was sure was desperation on his face.

“Stop. Stop it. Natalia please, just…” He grabbed her face gently, looking her directly in her eyes as he shook her a little.

“You need to stop. You can’t—what are you doing? Why are you…? Stop looking at me like that, stop doing all of this. Stop—”

“Showing emotion?” Natalia asked, steel in her voice as she glared a bit at him and pulled away.

“You’re going to get yourself killed or shipped off to Siberia. I can’t—what will I…”

“I’m not an idiot James, I know better than to show my superiors my newfound sense of feeling.” He still stared at her like she was a time bomb and he was watching the seconds tick off with no way to stop it. She softened a bit and walked close to him, grabbing his flesh hand in hers. It made him shiver a bit because she was initiating contact and it wasn’t harmful and he wanted that, but it did nothing to quell the fear he felt growing in him over her.

“James, I know better. I know how to fake it. Besides, you’re the only one I want to be Natalia with. You’re the only one I want to be a person with.” He looked down at her and she was staring at him again and he was wondering what had happened, what happened in the last three months that made her this…. human. On one hand, he hoped it happened to him as well because even though he could probably wax poetic for hours about how much of an idiot he thought Bucky Barnes was, at least he was human and able to make mistakes and try things and test the waters and live his life without thinking that the people controlling said life was going to put a bullet in his head or lash him with a whip or rape him with a rod. He could rant about how much he hated the amber waves of grain and purple mountain majesty that made up half of his blood but at least they seemed to be somewhat freer than he was. What did he have? A friend who was living a life not hers and only getting to be herself when she killed? A woman who he cared for that virtually had no history or future? Superiors to answer to, missions to complete, others’ debts to collect and a country to push to the forefront? What did he really have?

Natalia was leaning in to him. He knew what she was going to do but he didn’t want to admit it to himself. She was within his breathing space when suddenly her face went blank.

“Do you remember the move you pulled when we first met?” He nodded with confusion.

“Someone’s coming, do it.” She suddenly leapt up on his neck, enclosing her thighs around his throat and twisted to flip him. He performed the same move he did the first time they’d done this but this time around he was uninjured, so he managed to roll out of the flail of limbs unscathed while she took a breather on the mat. Suddenly a clapping filled the room. He looked up to see General Karpov enter the room. He instinctually stood up at attention. He could feel Natalia do the same beside him.

“General.” They both said in deference.

“Stand down, comrades. Very impressive, Yakov. I see your months undercover haven’t hindered your fighting prowess.”

“Thank you, General.” He didn’t feel as good about this compliment as he did at the last one, he had received from him.

“Come Yakov, we have much to discuss.” Karpov ignored Natalia altogether as if she wasn’t in the room at all. He surprisingly clapped his hand on Yakov’s back briefly before walking in front of him and expecting him to follow. He did of course, what else would he do? As he said, he didn’t have a choice. He was beginning to suspect that even in that hospital bed all those years ago, his choice was not his own, it just took him a very long time to figure that much out.


	4. Chapter 4

"Do not fall!" Dankov ordered in a fierce tone of derision.

Ivan stood on his tiptoe with one of his legs up in the air behind him. He looked to his left and right and smiled reassuringly to the girls beside him who were in much the same pose. Their ballet instructor, Dankov, had it out for Ivan and his best friends Renata and Sonia for many reasons. He didn't like Sonia because of her dark skin showing off her African heritage, he didn't like Renata's accent which showed her English roots, he didn't like Ivan because his accent showed his American roots, he didn't like the girls because they were in a relationship together, he didn't like Ivan because he was too outspoken and the coup de gras: he didn't like them because they wouldn't let him in their bed. He was a pig at the best of times and they weren't intimidated enough by him to give in to his desires and so he made their lives harder because he could. They had been at this balancing act for nearly four minutes already, his toes ached and he could tell by looking at the girls' faces it was no different for them but they held themselves regardless. 

After thirty seconds he caught Sonia out of the corner of his eye about to fall. She was on his left side so he easily eased over and stabilized her with his prosthetic arm. He was pretty sure that it was the only reason Dankov hadn't done more to force himself on them. Sonia looked over at him gratefully and he smiled at her wide and crooked before looking back at Ren. She looked more stable than Sonia but he still indicated his raised leg to her and she lightly placed her hand on it using it as a bar after a moment's hesitation. His toes didn't appreciate his friendly gestures but he held his position straight up until Dankov angrily ordered them to break apart but instead he lowered himself onto his feet and the girls followed suit.

"I did not tell you to stop!"

"Time." Ivan indicated before continuing to his cubby to grab his change of clothes.

"Fine, get out of my sight! Incompetent..." He heard Dankov muttering as he stomped away. All the aspiring dancers in the room looked at each other and quietly started laughing to one another. They all began grabbing their clothing and heading towards the dressing room. Ivan was the only boy in Dankov's private class. Dankov, for all his deplorable traits, was one of the best ballet trainers and Ivan took great pride in being the only boy from the Academy to get into his class. 

It was strained at first, being the only boy. His arm made him even more of a pariah in this competitive world and the fact that he was male meant he had to change in the same room as Dankov. However, after an encounter with a drunken Dankov almost led to Ivan being raped, the girls had rallied around him away and started acting as a buffer for him. They all did it for each other. They couldn't simply leave because Dankov was one of the best but they didn't have to succumb to his advances or not help each other at least where he was concerned. Now Ivan showered and changed in the same room as the girls, a space in the back carved out of him, but he mostly stuck by Sonia and Renata so everyone was comfortable. He and the girls lived together, so getting dressed around each other was nothing out of the ordinary.

Once they'd all finished getting changed and bidding their goodbyes to the others Ivan threw his arms around both girls' shoulders and pulled them close as he started down the cold Russian street.  

"Where are we going, Vanya?" Ren asked, her blonde hair blowing in the wind.

"Dancing." They both sighed.

"Again, Vanya? We went two days ago and today was particularly grueling. I think I'm all danced out." Sonia complained, the setting sun splashing orange against her dark skin as she pulled his prosthetic arm from around her shoulder so she could clutch onto it instead.

"Nonsense. You know what we need? We need fun and tonight we are going to go have fun, moya lapushkas." They sighed again but in resignation this time. He didn't know why but he just felt the urge to go to the Dance Room, a club that was pretty close to the studio but not too close. Honestly, he didn't feel like dancing either, but it was a desire he couldn't bring himself to fight.

When they got there it was packed. People were drinking, dancing and gambling and he happily soaked it all in. He bought his girls drinks (mostly because they kept glaring at him) and eventually after perhaps too much imbibing they seemed more relaxed. He always told them they were lightweights, the pair of them. They always retorted that he was more Russian than he'd like to admit and had the alcohol tolerance to prove it. They danced together and the girls seemed to be enjoying themselves, despite their complaints at first. However, Sonia and Ren always got handsy and overly affectionate with each other when they got drunk so he found himself wandering the club away from them. 

He was beginning to wonder why he came here at all when a woman caught his eye. She was pretty enough, pock-marked pale skin, electric blue eyes and long black hair. Not overly remarkable but pretty. He wasn't even sure how she caught his attention or why but he found himself saddling up to her and offering to buy her a drink. It was only thirty minutes later when they stumbled into a backroom kissing and grinding against each other. 

 _Damn, she feels so good._ He thought absentmindedly.

He pressed her to a couch and she practically ripped his pants off without preamble, pushed him onto his back and sunk down onto his length. He groaned at the sudden tightness and the surge of pleasure as she shifted her hips. He snapped his back against her and they were going and going and going and then he gasped as cold air hit his face. 

He looked around himself and was startled to find he was walking down the street with Sonia and Ren stumbling hand-in-hand just in front of him.

"How did I get here?" He wondered out loud.

"You left with us of course." Ren answers.

"After disappearing for two hours." Sonia added before pulling Ren into an impromptu kiss.

Two hours?! What did I do for two hours?

_Okay, time to level with yourself, Ivan._

In the accident that resulted in him losing his arm, he had also injured his head and it affected his memory. Sometimes he had blackouts and lost time but it hadn't happened in a while, so he largely forgot about it. His parents sent letters asking about his memory, but he had assured them he was fine. Mother wouldn't be happy to hear about this blackout. They usually didn't last more than an hour. He took a deep breath and calmed himself down. He was fine, he probably just spent his time with that woman before deciding to call it a night. It was probably a one off anyway.

It wasn't. Over the next few months his blackouts became more and more frequent and it always happened once he found a woman or a man he wanted to entertain for the night. One moment he'd be lost in pleasure and the next he was somewhere else with no memory of going there. He did not express his concerning health to his parents. They spent a lot of money to send him to Russia to continue his ballet training. He loved it, even though training was hard but their letters and Ren and Sonia's friendship was all he depended on most days. He did not want to worry them, even less so when he saw a picture of a man he'd been with in the Dance Room under the obituary section in the paper. He didn't want to look into it, didn't want to know what it could mean. He stopped reading the paper after the third face showed up.

**~*~*~**

It happened again. He wasn't even sure what made him go out to the club anymore he just felt compelled to and couldn't fight the feeling. There were people all around but his eyes were roaming the crowd almost like he was looking for someone. A man caught his eye, he caught everyone's eye really. He dressed much too finely for a hole in the wall club like the Dance Room. He was talking to a man and looking around nervously, obviously not wanting to be overheard. The two men shook hands exchanging something in the process before the other man walked away. Ivan stood against the wall for several moments before he propelled off it and made his way towards the man.

"Hello." He said causing the man to jump before turning around to look at him.

"Um... ahem, hello." He looked nervous, sweating and looking around himself.

"You look awfully frightened. Perhaps a drink is in order."

"Oh no, I shouldn't—"

"Nonsense." He interrupted before grabbing the man's hand and dragging him towards the bar.

They were drinking and having fun and then the man dragged him to the back to see something. Next thing Ivan knew, he was in an alleyway outside. He held a hand to his forehead trying to remember what the hell he'd been doing. This couldn't be happening, he needed to capitalize on his career, he couldn't have this problem now.

"James." He heard behind him and whipped around. There was a woman there with red hair and beautiful green eyes. She was smiling at him and for some reason it warmed a piece of him even though he'd never seen this woman in his life.

“I was hoping I would catch you before you went back.” 

“I’m sorry, I think you have me confused with someone else.” He watched her entire expression shut down and he felt a chill in him at the blankness that replaced the previous warmth. How was someone capable of switching that completely and drastically?

“Oh. Of course, sorry.” She turned to walk away but he stopped her. He felt compelled to, but not in the way going to the Dance Room compelled him despite him not really wanting to go at all anymore. 

“Maybe I could… help you find this James.” She smiled again but it was small and almost pathetic in a sad sort of way.

“Perhaps you could but I don’t think that’s entirely possible right now.”

“What do you mean by that?” She sighed before turning to him fully.

“When you remember your true life and the gaps and blackouts make sense, don’t worry. I’ll be there to help you but I can’t help you now.”

“How do you know about that?” He asked, his heart stuttering in his chest.

“Your life is so much larger than you know.” She said before she began walking away from him. When he got home he didn’t know what to tell Sonia and Renata because he honestly wasn’t sure whether or not that woman was even real. The fact that he didn’t know frightened him all the more.

**~*~*~**

There were dreams now. He slept in the same bed as Renata and Sonia. In their one-bedroom shoebox of an apartment, there was naught but two mattresses piled on top of each other on the floor in a corner of the space draped with blankets and duvets because it could get bone-shatteringly cold. When it got that chilly, his chest and shoulder ached from it. As a solution, the girls cuddled up on either side of him or sometimes exclusively on his left side so they could all stay warm and he could stay pain free. It was nice sharing so much of his life with people he loved dearly without being in a romantic relationship. There was something about being tied down that didn't sit right with him but there were some hang ups to being so close to the girls. Having nightmares around others wasn’t ever fun.

He wasn’t entirely sure of what was happening at first. It was just imagery, no context or rhyme or reason. 

A flash of red. What looked like a shield with a star painted on it. A woman’s tired smile. A liquor bottle being thrown at a wall. Blue flashing lights and explosions. The whirring of a saw. The feeling of freefalling through the air. Blood on his hands. It was all a jumbled mess of flashes. He was starting to feel like he was on fire before he saw himself walking into a lab where an unassuming man sat writing on a clipboard. Everything in him wanted to turn tail and run far away but there were guards behind him with guns and he was unarmed despite the metal arm so he made himself walk inside. 

“Ah, Yakov Bennett. It's a pleasure to finally have you here.”

 _The pleasure is all yours._ He wanted to say but instead he stood stoically and silently trying not to betray his fear.

“Come, come. Sit.” The man said, gesturing to the medical chair next to him which was covered in restraints both metal and leather. He made himself sit still as the guards came forward and strapped him to the chair in such a way that he had limited mobility. Even his head was strapped down.

“If there's nothing further, Doctor Rodchenko.” One of the guards said. He could see from the corner of his eyes that they looked like they were itching to leave the room just as much as he was. Rodchenko let them scurry away before he turned to him. The doctor silently read and wrote on his clipboard and Yakov found himself trying very hard not to start crying or sweating from anticipation and fear.

“Alright Comrade Bennett, let's make this as smooth and quick as possible. Young Yelena will need you at your finest, I'm sure you want to be of help to her.' He didn't know how he knew he cared for Yelena and he didn't ask, he simply replied.

“I will do what I must for the Motherland.”

“Of course.” Rodchenko turned around and fiddled with something before turning back to Yakov holding a large syringe in his hand.

“Let's hope you don't burn through this too quickly.” He reached over and tightened the strap holding Yakov's head and he could feel the panic setting in. He wanted to get out of here, he shouldn't be here. He shouldn't— he can't...

He grunted and bit down on his lip hard enough to draw blood as the needle was pushed into his right temple with no preamble. He could feel the liquid being injected into his head and could feel a dull burn starting up. Rodchenko pulled the needle out eliciting a pained moan from him. Before he could feel relief there was a whirring above his head and he stared up as another needle came into view. It was coming down towards his left eye. He started squirming but the restraints kept it to minute shifts of his muscles, so he had no choice but to watch it come. He clenched his teeth, not wanting to scream in front of Rodchenko: the monster who created monsters in his laboratory/factory. He didn't give Yakov anesthetics for this so he felt the sharp pain of the needle entering his eye even as the burning in his head grew stronger by the second. He grunted and gripped the armrest with his metal arm hard enough to warp it into another shape.

“Good boy.” Rodchenko praised as the needle retracted from his eye. He felt the chair moving even as the burning increased to an uncomfortable level. Rodchenko put something on his face and whatever it was forced his eyelids apart. The chair was moved into a vertical position and Rodchenko tightened the strap on his head before pressing a button which caused the wall across from him to move revealing a wall of televisions. They all flickered on at once showing various clips of ballet performances, recitals and training. His mind felt feverish taking it all in, his head felt like it would explode.

“You will do well, Sergeant Barnes. You will do well.” He heard him say but he didn't question how he knew about that name, how he knew about his dreams, he couldn't because the burning. It was burning him out, it was going to destroy him.

Finally, he screamed.

He snapped awake confused at his surroundings. He didn't recognize the apartment, but he did recognize the telltale sign of two bodies pressed against him.

 _What am I doing here? Ma’s going to flip. Steve’s probably pacing himself into an asthma attack. Yelena’s going to tease me and probably won’t give me sweets for this. Rose and Becca won’t sleep without me in the house. Who talked to Natalia today? Dammit, who walked Evelyn home?_ He thought frantically, getting out of the bed and searching for clothes to throw on. He’d never slept over a dame’s house before, he knew better. Ma was going to ring his neck.

“Vanya, what are you doing?” A groggy voice came from the bed.

 _Who the hell’s Vanya?_ He thought.

“This was nice and all, but I really oughta be getting home now.”

"What on earth are you talking about?" The dark-skinned girl asked, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. He continued frantically looking for a shirt.

"Vanya, are you sleepwalking or something?" He didn't answer.

"What's wrong?" Another voice asked. He turned and saw...

"Yelena?" He asked.

"Who?"

No, that's not right. He didn't know who Yelena or Natalia was. No, that wasn’t right, Steve was the stranger and he never had sisters. He didn’t… he wasn’t…

“Ivan.” Yelena, no not Yelena, her name was Renata… now it was Renata. It hadn’t always been? 

Who the hell was Ivan? 

Who the hell was Yakov? 

Who the hell was Bucky?

He stared at them for a moment before running to the bathroom. He barely managed to lock the door behind him and get the toilet seat up before he started throwing up his stomach’s contents. The contractions in his abdomen hurt, hurt like a thousand needles being stuck into his arm, hurt like being hit in the face with a beer bottle, hurt like being dragged miles across snow and ice, hurt like reaching as far as he could to catch his hand. He was so close to him, to the man dressed in stars and stripes and white blue red (so much red). He brushed his fingertips and then he was falling and surrounded by red (always red). Red walls, red rooms, red blood, red hair and red lips that smiled at him. Those lips and their rare smiles were the only good thing in that place, in the place where they made him a killer, where they unmade and remade him over and over and—no!

 _Stop it, what are you doing to yourself?_ He chastised in his own mind as he spit out the last of the bile and flushed the toilet. 

He made his way to the sink and washed out the taste from his mouth and then looked up at himself in the mirror. He poked at his face with his fingers wondering desperately why he couldn’t get a grasp on his own face, why he looked like a stranger to himself. Why was it that when he thought of his mother three different faces popped up? Why was it that when he thought of his father one part of him loved him dearly while another hated him completely? Why did he remember sisters he never had? Why did he remember a skinny (no not skinny, not anymore, they took that) blonde boy (no man, he was a man) he’d throw himself in front of a train to protect? Why did he remember the gut-wrenching feeling of looking at a small blonde boy with a swollen jaw dead on a table? Why did he recall sleeping with Renata (not Renata, Yelena) on his cot and wanting to keep her safe from everyone? Why did he remember the red-headed woman from the alleyway fighting with him and smiling at him and looking up into his eyes like she wanted to stay there forever?

“Ivan, are you okay?” He heard Yelena… Renata… Yelena… whoever she was, say from beyond the door.

Who the hell is Ivan? He thought again.

“Who are you?” He asked himself quietly.

 _I am one of 28 young ballerinas under the tutelage of Comrade… Master Dankov. Training is hard but the glory of the soviet culture, and the warmth of my parents and siblings… my… siblings… makes up for…. no… that’s not right… I am one of the 28 Black Widow agents of the Red Room. Training is hard but the glory of soviet supremacy, and the warmth of my parents…. all my parents…. makes up for…_  

_What the hell is wrong with me?_

**~*~*~**

He was at the Dance Room again. He went there to get drunk so he wouldn’t have to think, so he didn’t have to be so utterly aware of how much his mind was cracking. He was officially losing his mind, so much so he let some of his struggles slip to his parents. They wanted him to come home and get some treatment before continuing his training but he had refused, something about going home just sent shivers down his spine and made bile rise to his throat. He played off his health concerns and they seemed to accept it. Now he was in the club willingly for the first time in he didn’t know how long drinking any and everything he could get his hands on. It wasn’t doing him much good though. Damn his tolerance level.

He absentmindedly surveyed the room and stopped when he noticed Sonia talking to a man in the corner. He recognized the man, he had been talking to the rich man he’d spent the night with that same night he met the redhead. Sonia seemed nervous, he wondered what was happening over there and watched them while unconsciously cataloging their mannerisms. He slipped her something like he had the other man, a piece of paper, then Sonia quickly left the club.

Later on when he left the club himself and went home, he searched Sonia’s purse and found the slip of paper. A part of him felt like he was invading her privacy, it wanted him to just leave this alone and go on with his life however fucked up it was right now but another part of him made him sit and analyze the paper and decipher the coded message until he realized it was coordinates and a date. He did nothing with the information for a while, had all but forgotten he’d had it until the date on the paper came around and as he and Sonia were walking in one of the darkened hallways of the studio he felt rather than registered that his metal arm lashed out and hit her in the back of the head, knocking her out.

The next moments came to him in flashes. He barely remembered calling Dankov with news of a traitor, barely recalled fighting with Renata… Yelena, he thought he remembered the feeling of rope being tied around his hands and being driven in the back of a car while the girls argued up front. He could recall a bit that Dankov had been in their apartment. He was in there when the girls stumbled into the place supporting him on either side as they dragged him along with them. He thought he remembered seeing a gun in his hand and he was touching Sonia. His hands were all over her face, her breasts, he remembered clearly that Dankov had touched her vagina, was rubbing against her and then Ivan completely blacked out. 

When he opened his eyes again he could feel the cold floor of his apartment with Sonia and Renata (no Yelena, she was Yelena) under his cheek and wondered why the hell he was on the floor. He came to himself quickly and took in his surroundings. He could hear crying and someone else trying to comfort this person and he could smell iron and salt pungent in the air: blood. He sat up quickly and rolled into a crouch in front of Sonia and Renata/Yelena. Sonia was crying while ‘Lena held her in her arms and kissed her forehead soothingly. She looked over at him with haunted eyes and he could tell that she knew too, she had broken through the cover as well.

“Yakov.”

“Lena. What…” He looked around, wondering what had been powerful enough to snap them into this rare moment of dual clarity. He immediately spotted Dankov’s body. He was mutilated, there was no other way to put it. His throat was ripped open and his head was hanging on to his neck by a few tendons. His arms and legs were contorted in unnatural angles and there was a shard of glass sticking out of his eye. He stood up and backed away from the body towards where Yelena and Sonia were. He clenching his hands and they felt sticky and crusted, he knew it was blood on his hands, he knew he had done it. He killed their superior, he just didn’t know why.

“He came while I was trying to get us away. I was going to take you with us, help you remember but you’d already called him. He was waiting for us. He tried to rape Sonia. You took care of it.” Yelena explained, emotionless. He stared longer at his body. This was the second time he’d killed one of their superiors. He looked over at the girls and Sonia looked horribly frightened and confused. 

“Do you think the man you talked to will still be there to help you defec… leave, Sonia?” She looked up at him with eyes that were afraid but still held some sense of trust.

“He said he’d stay an extra two hours and wait. We’re only a half-hour late.”

“Go. Don’t tell me where you’re going. Pack up and leave. I’ll take care of Dankov.”

“How can I just--” Yelena started but he cut her off.

“You’re better than this, you have better. You have to protect your family this time, that’s what I’m doing. Go, protect her.” 

“You’re going back.”

“I have to if you're going to get away.” Yelena looked at him teary-eyed, the first he’d ever seen her let any emotion like this slip even in deep cover. She briefly let Sonia go so she could wrap her hands around him and kiss his cheek.

“Thank you, Bucky.” He looked at her with confusion but she just looked at him with eyes heavy with implication. He nodded with understanding. It wouldn’t matter soon anyway. Sonia wavered a bit before throwing her arms around him. He hugged her back making sure to keep the blood on his hands away from her. He kissed her forehead when they pulled away.

“Get cleaned up and go.” They both nodded before making their way to the bathroom. He looked over at Dankov before grabbing some sheets from the bed. He wrapped him up in them and then dragged him out of the house. He didn’t remember where he took him but he had flashes of burying him deep in the woods. When he returned the girls were gone and the house was clean. He did some final touches on the apartment, packed his bookbag with some essentials and then left the apartment quickly. He didn’t know where he was going but apparently his brain knew because he walked so much his feet blistered and bled before he found himself in front of the structure that he knew as “home”. He’d returned and he didn’t know what new torture was going to be met him now.


End file.
